


Holding the Love I've Known in My Life

by Ashtree11



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Reminiscing, baby byleth :3, quick father's day fic for jeralt, sorry for any mistakes aaahh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtree11/pseuds/Ashtree11
Summary: Jeralt thinks back to how he spent his first Father's Day. 20 years later, he gets celebrated for real.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 88





	Holding the Love I've Known in My Life

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't initially plan to do anything for Father's Day, but then this idea came to me and here we are. i apologize for any mistakes made i really wanted to get this fic out before the day ended.

Howling winds tugged at Jeralt’s cloak, threatening to tear it right off his shoulders. It was the middle of the Garland Moon and yet snow still fell with a vengeance. But he relented that it was _his_ decision to move into Faerghus territory. The Knights of Seiros were starting to settle in the Alliance a little too much for his liking. 

He held fast to his thick cloak with an iron grip and gritted teeth. It was the only thing shielding the small bundle huddled against his chest. He nudged his horse forward, urging it on towards the small beacons of light just up ahead. He had no idea where he was nor could he consult his map without risking losing it or dropping his precious cargo.

Every shaking step the horse took was another second that Jeralt held his breath, as if anticipating the moment when the steed would finally buckle under the exertion. 

Byleth was quiet. Even in the unerring cold she didn’t make a peep. He raised the bundle up and lowered his ear to her little head. When he felt the faint puffs of warm breath brush against his ear, he allowed himself to exhale.

At last, they entered the village. Jeralt immediately steered them towards the stables, dismounting to pound on the wood door.

It opened a sliver with an eye peeking through.

“You’re either mighty brave or downright mad for being out in a storm like this,” the stablemaster remarked.

“Can I keep my horse here or not,” Jeralt gruffed. 

“For ten gold you can.”

The price was steeper than it had any right to be, but there was no room for bartering. He needed to get his daughter out of the cold.

Keeping his face passive, Jeralt paid the amount and the stablemaster emerged from out of the house to collect the shivering steed. At the wave of warmth washing from the hearth crackling inside, Jeralt felt the bundle stir against his chest. A tiny arm slipped out from beneath the blanket, reaching out for the source of heat.

With a frown, Jeralt gently coaxed the hand back. “This village got an inn or something close by?” he called out to the stablemaster who was guiding the horse into the enclosed building.

The man jabbed a charcoal stained finger to the north. “Just go on that way, you can’t miss it.”

As far directions go, it wasn’t the worst he’s ever received.

With both hands free, Jeralt held Byleth closer, shielding her from the icy winds that only seemed to grow stronger by the minute.

The stablemaster was right when he said that the inn couldn’t be missed. It looked out of place compared to the other homes of the modest village. Then again it was hard to see the other homes with thick sheets of snow obscuring his vision. With its ornate walls and expertly carved door depicting some Faerghus legend or other, it was clear that it was built fairly recently and with the anticipation of visitors. 

He swung open the door, inviting a harsh blast of cold into the warmly lit entryway before shoving it closed with his shoulder.

His boots clomped against the dark wood flooring towards the front desk where the innkeeper, a stout older woman, regarded him with wide, startled eyes.

“Sorry about that,” Jeralt said as he tossed the hood of his cloak off his head. The frost and snow that clung to his clothes flaked off and had already begun to melt.

The innkeeper snapped to attention. “Oh, it’s quite alright, sir. What can I do for you?”

“A room.” He glanced down at Byleth. “And maybe some milk and a meal if you have it.”

She followed his gaze. And her eyes widened once more. “Oh, I see. How old...?”

He hesitated. Giving information about himself or even his newborn child to _anyone_ was risky. “A few months,” he answered vaguely.

The woman hummed thoughtfully, her surprise softening into sympathy. “Goat milk then. And five gold for the room.”

Cheaper than he expected. Though maybe he had Byleth to thank.

Jeralt slid the gold coins across the countertop at the same time the innkeeper slid a single brass key towards him.

“Upstairs and five doors down on the right should do you both just fine,” she said with a small smile. “I’ll bring your meal up in a moment.”

“Thanks.”

The closer he came to the room, the more his joints ached, begging for sweet relief. He practically fell through the door as he unlocked it. Shedding his heavy travel pack and other gear, Jeralt slumped onto the bed. With still defrosting fingers, he removed his gloves and set to untie the sling that housed Byleth.

The baby blinked up at him as he lowered her onto the stiff bed, the blankets still swaddling her.

“Just hang tight, kid. Food’ll be here soon. Let’s just get you warm first, okay?”

She gave no response. She only continued to stare.

Heaving himself up with a short grunt and a grimace, he fished out a pair of flints from his pack and trudged over to the fireplace across from the bed. A few pieces of wood were already placed inside with several more piled in the far corner. With two strikes of the flints, flames licked at the small kindling and slowly crawled up to devour the larger logs.

By the time the innkeeper came with a plate of bread, shredded meats, and a pitcher of milk, Jeralt had Byleth in his arms in front of a modest fire.

“Here you are, sir. It’s not much, but it’s what I could find at this hour.”

“It’s fine, thank you,” Jeralt assured.

She set the plate and pitcher down before righting herself and smoothing out her dress. “It must be bittersweet for you to be here tonight.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend, sir. I was just thinking with it being Father’s Day an’ all, you had to be out there in the storm. But at least you have your child with you. She seems healthy. Well behaved too for a little one her age.”

 _You’d eat those words if you knew the truth_. “Yeah, I guess she takes after her mother like that.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two be then. Have a good night, sir.”

“You too, thank you.”

When she finally left the room, Jeralt reached over for the pitcher of milk and carefully laid Byleth down on his lap. From his travel bag, he dug out the flask he used just for her. He had the mouthpiece pinched and bent to ensure that the contents wouldn’t pour too fast. He could imagine Sitri giggling behind a hand at the crude attempt in making a baby bottle. He uncapped the top and filled it half way up with the goat milk.

“Hungry, kiddo?”

Byleth kicked her legs and clumsily reached an arm out to him in response.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled and scooped her back into his arms, mindful of supporting her head before bringing the flask up to her. Like always, her eyes went cross as she focused on the flask and she held it with her two stubby hands as she drank.

“Father’s Day, huh?” How long has it been since he’s thought about this holiday? He could barely recall his own father. The long years working under Rhea and the Knights blurred the time beyond recognition. He never thought he’d be a father himself either. His life has been nothing but fighting, what was there to convince him that it would change?

The answer to that turned out to be Sitri. She changed him, she changed a lot of things... She would’ve wanted to throw a celebration of sorts for today, even if only to see him bashful under the attention they’d garner.

To think, his first Father’s Day was to be spent alone. Just him and his child tucked away in an unknown village. Today also meant that Mother’s Day had passed. Sitri wasn’t here to celebrate her first. Tears pricked his vision, misting over his eyes and he quickly stifled it. Instead he kept his focus on his daughter, happily drinking away at her dinner. Or at least, he hoped that she was happy.

“Whatever Rhea did to you, kid, I hope it’s something that you’ll grow out of,” he murmured. She turned her gaze up to him, still drinking her milk.

He smiled wryly. “You know, your mom had trouble expressing herself sometimes too. She’d get this far away look when she was alone, like she was waiting for something. But then we got to know each other over the years, and boy when she smiled... when she smiled it was like the heavens had to stop and stare.” He chuckled to himself, stroking a fingertip over Byleth’s soft, chubby cheek. “I hope you got your mom’s smile, kid.”

The statement gave him pause. What does he mean by that? He took in Byleth’s dark blue eyes and tufts of teal hair, so different from the darker greens that Sitri had. She wasn’t going to be a clone of Sitri. No he didn’t want that. He would never want that. Instead...

“I just mean that I want you to be happy, kid.”

Byleth stopped drinking, as if sensing the somber air coming from her father.

He cleared his throat. “And I’m sure if you got my smile it’s not gonna do you any favors,” he joked, though he could practically hear Sitri’s vehement protests at the sentiment.

He continued to watch his daughter drink, the sound of her tiny gulps filled the room alongside the crackling fire and whistling winds outside. He was warned time and time again by nuns and fellow soldiers alike that babies were loud and needy, always crying for every little thing from food to bathtimes. Every time, he was warned to be ready to lose a whole lot of sleep for his child in order to keep them well fed, warm, and safe. And happy.

“It’s all part of being a father,” those people said.

But they didn’t take into account also losing his wife, the mother who will never celebrate being one every Harpstring Moon, nor would they imagine that the only reason why he lost sleep at night was because of waking up in a panic to see if his child was even still alive. With no heartbeat to speak off or cry to signal that something was wrong, the only thing that brought him comfort was her soft breathing and some damn good guesses for what she needed.

Byleth eventually finished the flask and reminded him how late it had gotten with a big yawn.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s get you to bed.” He kissed the top of her head and set her down on the bed where she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow with her blanket curled tightly in her fist. He ate his own dinner in silence, occasionally throwing in fresh wood into the fire.

He often wondered what Sitri would say about his choice to run away from Garreg Mach. Tonight was another one of those times as wind outside picked up again. What would she say to him for dragging their daughter through Faerghus snow storms when he could’ve been at the monastery, never having to worry about their next meal or where to find shelter and warmth. This was no place to raise a child, but he had no other choice. Not when Rhea was still around. He wished he could find answers to why his wife had died and why his daughter was deadly silent; if not for his own sake, then for the sake of his daughter who will likely one day grow up to harbor the same questions that weighs down his heart so heavily.

But for now...

For now she was fed, warm, and safe. He didn’t need a holiday to commemorate that. “All part of being a father,” he recited with a soft sigh. And he continued to eat.

“Papa?”

He jumped, startled out of the memory. He was no longer huddling for warmth amidst a Faerghan snow storm, but sweating in the heat of the Garreg Mach sunshine. The fish that was about to take his bait swam back into the depths of the monastery pond. Disappointment didn’t last long though as he turned to face his daughter, all grown up and a _professor_ of all things. Funny how life turns out.

“Oh, hey kiddo,” he greeted. “Looking for some alone time away from the brats?” Then he looked down at her hands where she held a pair of flower crowns and a sandy brown armored bear stuffy holding a lance and wearing shoulder pauldrons. He raised an eyebrow. “Whatcha got there? More things for the princess?”

She shook her head, though there was still a faint blush on her cheeks. “No, I came to give these to you,” she answered. She walked closer, knelt down, and held out the items to him.

“For me?”

“My students informed me that today is a holiday for fathers. A few of them told me that gift giving and quality time are ways to celebrate.” She lifted the two crowns. “Bernadetta showed me how to make these a moon ago.” Then she glanced down at the bear. “And this one looked like you. Happy Father’s Day, papa.”

He set his pole aside and gingerly accepted the flower crown and bear, willing his hands not to shake as he did so. “T-thanks, kid. Any reason why you got two crowns?”

Without another word she placed the second one on her head. 

And for a moment, Jeralt’s memory flashed before his eyes. And for a moment, Sitri stared back at him, smiling her radiant smile that made the heavens stop and stare. 

In a blink she was Byleth again, fixing him with a soft smile that he’s come to see more and more of ever since they arrived at Garreg Mach.

“My students thought it’d be fun if we matched.” Her gaze fell to her lap. _Was she_ bashful _?_ Jeralt thought in disbelief. “Do you like them?” she asked.

A pause fell between the two of them. The gentle lapping of the pond beneath the dock coaxed by gentle winds was the only thing that could be heard. Then Jeralt chuckled, slowly devolving into a hearty laugh as he placed his gifted crown on his head. “I love them, kiddo. Thank you.” He ruffled her hair affectionately, making her smile just a bit wider.

“So what do you have in mind for the ‘quality time’ part?”

She shrugged. “Can I join you?”

He nodded and made room for her to sit. “Whoever catches the biggest one, the loser has to cook it.”

Her cornflower eyes ignited at the challenge. “You’re on.”

As she settled in beside him with her own pole he patted the top of the stuffy’s head. “So what should I call him?”

Again she shrugged. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Fair enough. I’ll think of something right after I kick your ass at fishing.”

She scoffed in response, her small smile still curled on her lips.

 _She’s happy_. Jeralt grinned wistfully, looking up towards the sky where he hoped Sitri was watching over them. _She’s happy._

**Author's Note:**

> as always you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Ashtree111)


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